War Stories
by helenamarkos
Summary: The War of the Ring is a tale well documented by Men, but the orcs had their own tales to tell. A collection of one shots featuring the foot soldiers and underlings of the White Hand and the Red Eye. Set in the same universe as "Splint" and "The Black Heart."
1. Lunch Break

**Disclaimer:** Middle Earth and it's people places and things are the property of one J.R.R. Tolkien. All original characters belong to one Helena Markos ;)

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**Lunch Break**

**AN:** This story features Gijakzi, an orc from my story _The Black Heart_.

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The raucous, hooting shouts of several orcs grew louder as it approached the forges. Gijakzi rubbed his worn eyes and looked up from the revisions to the plans for the dam his Master had ordered, his face twisted in a scowl. A troop of goblins were hurrying through the great metal gates, cheering and laughing and carrying on as they dragged a bound prisoner behind them. Gijakzi's scowl deepened.

"Let's stick 'im in the furnace," the leader of the rowdy group cheered. "Bet 'e squeals like a pig!"

The goblins at the anvils had stopped working, grinning wildly as their eyes lit on the short, bearded prisoner, their faces gleaming with malice. Isengard's forge master hopped off of his stool, intent on putting an end to this rabble rousing. War was coming, and they had enough shit to do without stupid distractions.

He may have been called a goblin by those Uruk hai scum in the pits below, but Gijakzi still stood over the tallest northern lad by a head. Rearing up to his full height, he looked down on the idiots that decided to make the forge their personal torture chamber. His hand went reflexively to the studded whip on his belt.

"The fuck is all this?" the head smith growled, glaring dangerously at the orcs in front of him and then at their bedraggled, beaten prisoner.

"Oi!" the lead lad said. "We caught us a snoopin' dwarf, the bastard. Master gave us the go ahead to show 'im what for."

"The fuck's 'e in 'ere then?" Gijakzi hissed and leaned forward, displaying an impressive a row of dense, uneven lower fangs. He was pleased when the entirety of the group backed up a step.

A diminutive, speckled goblin at the far edge of the work line subtly cleared his throat. "Hey boss," his tiny voice called out from the corner. "Them half pints is best when they's roasted!"

A number of nods and general agreement went up, both among the orcs that barged in and the lads minding the forge. Gijakzi turned towards his staff, specifically singling out his chatty underling. "Yer one ta call someone 'alf pint, Gruz, ya little runt. How bout I have _you_ roasted?"

Gruz whimpered and shrank away into a dark corner.

Whirling on his uninvited guests, Gijakzi pulled the whip from his belt. His patience for nonsense had reached its limit. He didn't care one way or the other about some short, hairy, little_ tark_. These northern folk had a gripe to pick with everyone! He suddenly longed to be back in the quiet isolation of his homeland, among the cliffs of southern Nûrn.

"Ain't no one puttin' nothin' in no furnace," Gijakzi hissed and advanced a little on the group. Their leader must have heard of his position, or his tendency towards heavy handedness, because he did not challenge the order, even though he had a good number of boys with him if he wanted to press the issue.

His face fell a bit as he turned towards his fellows. "You 'eard the boss, lads. Ain't nothin' fer it." The dwarf breathed a little sigh of relief through his gag.

As they started to shuffle out, Gijakzi heard a little sniff from the work area, and glanced over to see his whole staff staring, crestfallen, at the group leaving. An uncharacteristic stir of pity welled in his chest as he stared at the rows of wide-eyed, mournful faces. Hadn't these northern folk fought a large battle with the dwarves years ago? Katag had told him once that those stubby bastards had cleared out den after den back in the day – long before she was born, but well within orcish memory – and some family lines no longer existed because of it. Now, here, they had managed to catch one.

Who was he to spoil their fun?

"Oi," Gijakzi called after the retreating orcs. "You ain't stickin' 'im in the main furnace, it'll fuck up the temperature." Gijakzi nodded towards a large, pot bellied stove in the far corner. "Use the little one. We ain't workin' with it today."

A huge cheer went through the forge and thirty eager orcish smiths fixed their boss with watery eyes. "Go on," he said, motioning to the group of orcs, who were hoisting the prisoner on their backs, tossing him back and forth before that final toss in. "Might as well give 'em a hand."

The whole forge erupted into whoops and hollers, and the metallic clang of a few dozen hammers falling to the ground echoed off the walls. Gijakzi hopped back on his stool with a small smile on his face. It was good to give the boys a break once in a while.


	2. Kin

**War Stories**

**Kin**

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Everywhere there was icy black; a typhoon of freezing, detritus filled water. There was a light above him, so he made his way towards that. Erupting from the depths of the swirling Isen, the young Uruk male did not think of the dark, limp bodies floating past him, or the relentless current that threatened to pull him under again. Focusing on the far shore, where the reeds and rushes grew up like a barrier of green stalks, he swam. His arms felt like lead, and his wounded leg was dragging him down, but not as much as the unconscious form of his younger sister.

Thraangzi refused to let her go. For all he knew, she was all that remained of his kin. Calling upon all of his strength, he tilted her head out of the water and strained towards the river bank. He had survived the Fords, dragging the half conscious form of his sire the entire way back, only to lose him soon after returning. Compared to the crushing loss of his father, a little water was less than nothing.

Throwing the limp body of his sister onto the shore, Thraangzi hoisted himself up after. He rolled her on her stomach and, after a few hard thumps between her shoulder blades, Rukhash was awake, spewing water onto the muddy shore. Other orcs had made it across; snaga from the forges and a few other _Uruk hai_ soldiers who were on the upper levels when the dam was broken. They had been washed a good ways downriver, and all Thraangzi could see of Isengard was a shadowy spire in the distance.

Rukhash was shivering, clutching his jerkin, her mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. Thraangzi grasped her thin arm in his massive hands and dragged her to her feet, aided by a pot bellied goblin from the forges. "Steady on, girl," the old _snaga_ said to her, and Rukhash gave him a nod. He must have been a friend of her _snaga_ sire.

The others shuffling past were eerily silent, their eyes darting and anxious. Aside from the roaring river, the only sound was the cracking of wood and stone as bits and chunks of Orthanc churned in the rapids. A horrified shout streaked through the silence. "_The trees_!" someone upriver screamed. "The trees are coming for us!"

_What the fu-_ Thraangzi's incredulous thought was broken by the realization that the tree line along the river bank was _moving_. Not waving in a non-existent wind, but actually coming towards them. He had been on his share of raids, had stood in a number of battles, but the sight of a massive oak striding in his direction was enough to send an icy thrill of fear down his spine. As a gnarled branch reared back in preparation for a blow, Thraangzi took hold of his senses and scooped up Rukhash, who was even more dumbstruck. Poor brat, she was barely in her twelfth year; had never even_ seen_ the outside before today; was scarcely _dressed_.

But she had a long, curved knife strapped to her waist –it was practically a short sword compared to her size – and that was more than Thraangzi was sporting at the moment. Yanking the blade free, Thraangzi made a few, hasty swipes at the thin, grasping branches as he ran. The forest itself seemed to be closing in around them. Surprisingly, it sliced through the wood like a hot knife through back fat. There was an unnatural screeching noise as he cut through the offending boughs, and a root shot up underneath his feet. Thraangzi fell forward and his sister went flying into the undergrowth. He heard her land with a startled yelp.

A blood curdling scream to his right revealed an orc just before a twisted knot of roots closed in around him. Panicked, Thraangzi quickly pushed himself to his feet. "Rukhash!" he shouted, frantic. He couldn't lose her. She was all he had left.

Her head popped up like a daisy from a nest of thistle . She was scratched to bits, a mess of criss-crossed, shallow cuts across her face and neck. "Ow!" she whined as she tumbled free of the prickly bushes and fell at his feet.

Relieved beyond measure, Thraangzi huffed out a hysterical laugh as he hoisted her to stand. "You lucky sprog," he rumbled.

A cluster of orcs and _Uruk hai_ went screaming passed them, and Thraangzi whirled to see another walking nightmare bearing down on their position. He grabbed his sister's arm and dragged her forward. "Leg it, Rat!" he ordered and Rukhash broke into a sprint, her gangly legs churning. She was just as fast as him. The injury to his leg _was_ really slowing him down, but Thraangzi wouldn't risk a fight with that tree. His sister's knife was plenty sharp, but he doubted it would last long against a monster like _that_.

They lapped a pair of broad shouldered, round bellied Uruk females that he didn't recognize. How those two, pregnant bints made it out of the breeding pits, Thraangzi didn't know, but he wasn't going to stop and ask them. There was a bellow and a sickening crunch, and he knew at least one of them had gone down. Rukhash was huffing next to him, stinking like fear, and Thraangzi had to admit that he was impressed that she was keeping up. The pair of them leapt over a fallen log, narrowly avoiding a bough that swung for their heads. Now, even the stationary trees seemed to be getting in on the action, and the air of hostility that surrounded them in the dark shade of Fangorn was almost palpable. All around, the echoing sound of distant creaking and the pained whines and horrified bellows of their comrades made Thraangzi very aware of how many were being felled by the forest.

They ran endlessly, not daring to stop. A few times, his sister fell, unused to such a hard pace. His leg throbbed with a burning pain, but he was accustomed to stoically bearing an injury. Thraangzi's stride did not falter each time he bent to scoop her up and get her running again, though he was too breathless to spare a customary dressing down. Besides, she was not a soldier. She was barely out of childhood, and anyway, the threat all around them was enough to keep her going.

He was not sure how long he and Rukhash ran, dodging roots and trunks and violent foliage. Eventually, the distant screaming died down, and the trees around them calmed to the point where they were not actively seeking their death. It was well past dark. The canopy above swathed them in pitch darkness, but up ahead, Thraangzi could spot a pale light. Moonlight. Either they had found the edge or a clearing, but either way, he needed to rest and so did Rukhash. Her stride had become loping and erratic. She was near ready to pass out, and Thraangzi didn't have the energy to carry her.

Clearing the brake of timberland, the pair of Uruks collapsed upon the cool grass. A thick fog had rolled up, shielding them from eyes, but also shielding _their_ eyes. Thraangzi could not tell if they were truly free of Fangorn, or if they had only stumbled upon a convenient clearing. Rukhash was looking at him expectantly, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she caught her breath. "Thraangzi?"

He ruffled her frizzy head. "Take a breather lil' sis," he told her. "I'm gonna keep an ear out." With a sleepy nod, she immediately passed out, half draped over his lap.

Thraangzi shook his head and rolled her off of him. She grunted and curled herself into a little ball, sidling up against his hip. Examining the stitches along his calf, Thraangzi was troubled to find that the wound was starting to pucker and ooze. That was no good. They didn't have any salve on hand to help stave off infection. If his wound went hot, he would have to loose the stitches and flush it out, sear it with hot water and a burning blade. Unfortunately, they didn't have any pots on hand for heating water. Swearing, Thraangzi wrapped the soiled bandage back around his leg and decided not to think on it too hard. As long as the wound fever didn't hit him, he would still be able to travel.

Blinking slowly, Thraangzi leaned back against the incline behind him and listened to the buzzing and chirps of the night insects, relieved to be hearing normal sounds, not eerie silence and the creaks and moans of living wood. Idly scratching his sister's ear, he tried to settle his mind and decide on their next move. Somewhere deep inside his being, there was something pulling him south and east. The incessant thrumming of his Master's voice was gone, but that seemed to be replaced by a subtle whisper, a nudge that he could not ignore. Thraangzi wondered if Rukhash could feel it too, like a snake hissing in his ear, or a fly that he could not swat away. It made him feel oddly on edge, and he wasn't sure why.

With an annoyed grunt, he wriggled himself comfortable and continued to listen, intent on focusing on keeping the pair of them safe. Eventually, unwantedly, he dozed and dreamed odd dreams. Dreams of a fiery eye glaring down upon him in the darkness. Dreams that should have filled his with dread, but served, instead, to ignite in him a lust for bloodshed…

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Voices startled Thraangzi awake, low, gruff voices snarling in the darkness. The voices of other orcs. Shaking his sister, he rose to his feet, faltering on his stiff limb but quick to steady himself. His wound burned like hot metal.

"Oi," he hissed into the fog. The voices stilled to silence. "_Ooiii, _I said, is anyone out there?" Rukhash clutched at his side.

Shapes moved, lumbering in the mist. As silhouettes became form, Thraangzi was relieved to see the gored face of his Captain. "I thought I knew that whining," Captain Horat said with a gap toothed grin. Glaring at the trembling form of his younger sister, the Uruk Captain thrust his head in Rukhash's direction. "The fuck is that supposed ta be," he rumbled, "some kinda joke?"

"That's my lil' sis," Thraangzi said grimly, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Yea?" Captain Horat said with a smirk. "Well, bring the _baalak_ runt along, 'en. Might be good fer a snack."

Thraangzi did not move as his captain turned to lead the several _Uruk hai_ soldiers with him into the mist. "She ain't fer eatin'," Thraangzi growled at his back. Rukhash might be half goblin, but she was still his sis. Her sire's station was nothing compared to _that_. Loyalty to kin was the one lesson his mother imparted on all of his siblings, and though not all of them had taken that lesson to heart, Thraangzi had.

Captain Horat looked from Thraangzi to the small orcess at his side and back to Thraangzi again. "It's yer business, 'en," he said with a snort. Horat and the Uruks with him vanished into the mist. The others weren't going to help him look after her, he realized, and if she slowed them down, they would leave her behind, or worse...

Thraangzi would not leave her behind, and as long as he still had his head, no one would be eating her, but they needed to stay in a group. There was safety in numbers. Grasping his sister's shoulder, Thraangzi followed after them.

"Where're we goin'?" she whispered.

He did not need to think about it. Somehow, he knew exactly where they were heading. "We're goin' ta Mordor."

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**AN:** Thraangzi and Rukhash both appear in my longer story _Splint_.

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**Translations**

**_baalak_**_ (n) half breed (LOS, Shadowlandian)_

_**snaga** (n) slave (Tolkien BS)_


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